


Tongues of Fire

by spnjb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Disabled Dean Winchester, Gen, Gen Work, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Pre-Series, Protective Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-23 12:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnjb/pseuds/spnjb
Summary: When Dean took Sam out of the house on 2nd November 1983, he didn't stay outside. He went back in to try and get his Mom and Dad out too. Suffering from brain damage due to the smoke inhalation, Dean's life is drastically different to what it should have been. Sam is his carer and protective little brother, trying desperately to keep things afloat so his Dad doesn't go through with his threat of putting Dean in a Care Home. As if things weren't hard enough, people are being murdered in their hometown, having been killed by their loved ones. Nothing is as it seems and Sam can't help but want to investigate. Maybe the grizzled guy in trucker's caps who has turned up out of nowhere has some answers...





	1. Chapter One

One cool fall evening, a lone figure made his way down an empty street. The boy was on the verge of manhood and carried himself with the air of somebody only just getting comfortable in their skin. His shoulders were hunched against the bitter wind and his shaggy hair rose and blew out like a halo above his head with every strong gust. 

Not for the first time that evening, Sam pondered that he should get a haircut. In recent years, he had grown lax at making a regular trip to the barbers. It was always stressful getting Dean, his older brother, to sit still for a long period of time on any normal occasion, let alone when sharp, pointy objects were involved. Sam couldn't be bothered to make the trip solely for himself and so he had allowed his mane to grow out. Sam smiled ruefully as he remembered the time he himself had tried to trim Dean’s hair. Dean hadn’t noticed or cared about the finished result but the clip round the head that Sam had received from their father had squashed any thoughts he might have had of trying to repeat the job in the future.

Sam shivered a little in his thin jacket as he trudged onwards. He was taking his time today, not for leisure, but because he knew exactly where his big brother had gone. When Dean had first started disappearing from their house, Sam had been left on the verge of a meltdown and nearly hyperventilating until he stumbled upon his wayward brother. Dean hadn’t gone very far, nor anywhere new, as was his tendency to stay where he recognised and felt comfortable. The local park had become Dean’s escape destination, ever since he discovered how to work open the latch on their front door.

The heavy footfalls of Sam’s tattered sneakers were the only sounds in the early evening. Most families would be settling down to begin dinner, or maybe getting ready for their evening plans. The Winchesters could hardly be considered any normal family, which was why Sam found himself walking the streets in search of his missing brother and left their father to settle in for an evening of television and a bottle of Jack.

The wind was blowing in the wrong direction that evening, which is why Sam didn’t immediately know anything was wrong at first as he neared the park. That quickly changed as soon as the wind did, and he tensed at the sound of shouting. Quickening his pace, he hurried towards the source of the disturbance. As he neared, he sent up a silent prayer that he was overreacting as he was prone to do and all he would find would be a couple of kids playing a game of ball, whilst Dean sat at a safe distance, watching. Sam knew he often got overly anxious over little things, but damn, he had every right to. Considering past experiences, Sam had learned to be wary and expect the worst of situations, especially when his big brother was involved.

As Sam rounded the corner of the block, he came face to face with a sight that chilled him to the bone. On the swing set was Dean, which wouldn't be all that unusual if it wasn't for the misplaced group of teenagers surrounding him in a semi-circle. Sam internally groaned – he knew the boys from school and they were nothing but trouble. Dean looked fine, from what Sam could tell from the cursory glance at him, but the sly expressions on the youths' faces made Sam fasten to a run. The closer he got, the clearer the words the boys shouted became. He soon realised that they weren’t aggressive – yet – but seemingly mocking. Sam felt his chest tighten and his hands clench into fists. He yanked open the wrought-iron gate and charged inside the park. 

“HEY!” 

The gang looked up at the voice of the new arrival, but their shock didn’t last long. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the freak’s brother.” One of the larger boys sneered, sizing Sam up and down. Sam felt his blood boil and he marched to the edge of the group. 

"What the hell are you guys playing at? Leave my brother alone!” Sam spat, drawing himself up to his full 6’4”. He didn’t often like to bring attention to his height, instead preferring to slouch down, round his shoulders and bow his head. In situations like this, however, he felt endlessly grateful that he always found himself head and shoulders above other men.

The widening of the brute’s eyes told him that he was caught off guard by the suddenly intimidating stature Sam held, whilst the others in the group shifted uneasily. It was their movement that seemed to force the boy (who Sam suddenly remembered was called Matt) out of his shock and he visibly shook himself before curling his lip again.

“What do ya mean, Sammy? We were only chatting. Isn’t that right, Dean-o?” 

Matt laughed loudly, and nudged Dean, who was still sat on the swings in front of him. Sam bristled at the action and turned his attention onto his brother. Dean looked unharmed, of which Sam was eternally grateful, but he couldn’t shake off his feeling of dread. Dean had one hand wrapped around the thin links of the swing’s chain and with his other, he held a doll, clutched tightly to his chest. Dean had giggled along with Matt when he’d nudged him, but Sam could see that Dean didn’t understand what was funny. His eyes remained too blank and his mouth slightly slack.

“Look, guys, why don’t you give it a rest, hey? I’m sure you’ve got better places to be than hanging round here.” Sam knew trying to calm the situation was being too optimistic, but he desperately wanted to just take Dean and leave. As expected, things never went easily for the Winchesters.

“Aw, you tryin’ get rid of us, Sammy-boy? We were just having a little bit of fun! Look, Dean’s enjoying himself!”  
When Matt said those last words, he grasped hold of Dean’s hand holding the swing’s chain and waggled it about in the air. Caught off guard by the sudden grip, Dean let out a low whimper. All it took was that single noise to spur Sam into action, consequences be damned.

“Get your hands off of him! Leave him alone or I’ll-”  
It seemed that was all the bullies had been waiting for because the words had barely left Sam’s lips before he felt the air knocked out of him by a clenched fist.  
“Or you’ll what, Winchester? You threatening us?”

The ringleader drew back his fist again and slammed it into Sam’s stomach for a second time. Sam felt muscled arms grip his and drag them behind his back. Before he knew it, he was pinned to the ground and a kick caught him in the ribs. An elbow pounded into his face and then all he knew was a haze of blinding pain.

The actual attack didn’t last for that long and the gang soon become bored of the easy target. Despite Sam’s height, he had next to no muscle and no fighting experience whatsoever. The empty threat he had thrown at them had been said in the heat of the moment and with enough hope that he wouldn’t have to see through with it. He should have known not to aggravate the boys, but the sound they had forced out of Dean had left him with no choice. The gang soon left, making sure to spit gobs of saliva onto Sam's huddled form. The injured teen stayed where he was and reflected on what an idiot he had been. The boys would have probably just thrown out a few more insults or snide comments without the beating if Sam had just kept his mouth shut. The self-loathing he felt was pushed aside, however, when Sam became aware of the keening sound coming from his left. Sam gingerly raised himself onto his elbows, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of pain that erupted at the movement.

“Sammy! Sammy hurt!”

Sam tensed at the pain he heard in Dean’s voice. He sounded so lost and young, so unbelievably scared. It was that which spurred Sam to get up faster.  
“Dean? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” Sam rasped out, his jaw aching. He could already feel it beginning to swell and he only hoped that nothing was broken.  
“Baby Sammy hurt!” Dean wailed again, his voice shaking and rough.

Sam forced himself to open his eyes fully, fighting against the tenderness of his eyelids. He knew without a doubt that he’d have two spectacular black eyes tomorrow, but for now he just wanted to make sure that his brother was okay. He crawled over to his side and began patting him down gently.  
“Are you hurt, Dean? You need to tell me if they touched you.”  
Dean turned big green eyes to look at him and Sam watched with a lump in his throat when fat tears rolled down his flushed cheeks.  
“Baby Sammy hurt!” Dean repeated. “Sammy hurt bad!”

Sam smiled weakly when he realised that Dean wasn’t injured. If he was, he would be making a bigger fuss and not worrying so much over his stupid doll. Although his brother was clearly upset, Sam was glad that the doll he held had received the brunt of the bullies attention, rather than Dean himself.  
“Yeah, Dean, he did get a bit caught up in it all, didn’t he?” Sam gently raised his arms and touched the centre of Dean’s crossed arms, where he could just make out a dirty lump.  
“Will you let me have a look at him, Dean? I can make him feel better and patch him up for you.”

Dean’s breath hitched in his chest and he stared warily at Sam’s outstretched hands. He then lowered his eyes to his own hands and slowly released his iron-grip.  
“Help Sammy?” He sniffed, opening his arms fully so that Sam could see properly. “Make Baby Sammy better?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, Dean. We’ll make Sammy better. Why don’t you give Baby Sammy to me and then we’ll get out of here, hey?”  
Dean nodded slowly and then extended his arms towards Sam and thrust the bundle into his hands. Sam resisted the urge to flinch when his brother’s hands brushed the tender spot on his ribs. He accepted the doll and looked down at it briefly. As Dean had said, it was ‘injured’. The soft body had clearly been trodden on and was coated in dust and muck. The left arm was ripped nearly clean off and was only hanging by a few threads. Sam swallowed loudly and closed his eyes. Never had he felt such anger directed at anybody else before and he tried hard to push down his emotions. Dean needed him to keep a clear head and to remain calm.  
“He’ll be fine, Dean! We’ll have to give him lots of cuddles and special kisses and then he’ll be as good as new.”  
Dean rubbed the back of his hand underneath his nose and sniffed loudly.  
“All better?”  
Sam nodded and smiled reassuringly. “Yeah, Dean. Sammy will feel better in no time.”  
As he helped Dean rise and begin to make their way back home, he wished that he could say the same about the doll’s namesake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at a chapter fic - eek! I've been very organised and planned out the chapters so hopefully it turns out well. I hope you enjoy and please drop a comment :)


	2. Chapter Two.

Dean hadn’t always been like this. As his mother used to say, he was a bright spark and too clever for his own good. As an infant, he had charged past all of the milestones faster than any baby book or expert could predict. He had said his first words in a clear high voice and it wasn’t long after that he was saying full sentences – usually trying to get his own way. Strangers on the streets were forever surprised at the level of intelligence such a small boy held and it was the pride of his mother when they complimented his parents on his upbringing.

When Dean’s younger brother, Sam, was born, Dean was four years old and already reading at the level of a child in school. Whilst his father was at work and his mother doing housework, Dean could often be found settling down next to his baby brother on the couch and reading a storybook to entertain him. The baby’s big brown eyes stared in awe at the older child, seemingly to take in every word that he spoke. Dean had revelled in this attentive audience and keenly added his own spin on the stories, often turning the plot into an elaborate epic with twists and turns, immensely improved with the wild actions and facial expressions he made. 

Whilst Dean was clever, he was also a momma’s boy. Tiny hands could often be found clutching his mother’s leg as she stood at the kitchen worktops making dinner. He loved cuddling up between his parents in the evenings and explaining in his childish way what he had done that day, what games he had played and what adventures he and Sammy had gone on. His parents patiently listened, asking appropriate questions and smiling fondly at him. 

At the weekends, he played ball with his father in the backyard and sat in the kitchen whilst his mother baked, just so he could lick the bowl. He always made sure that Sammy could have a taste too, although his mother reminded him that his little brother couldn’t quite eat what they did as he was still too young. Dean nodded solemnly whenever told this, always digesting whatever his parents told him when it came to Sam’s care. If there was one thing Dean loved more than reading or eating cookies or even snuggles with his momma, it was looking after Sam.

Ever since he had been sat down and told he would be a big brother, Dean took his role very seriously. He held Sam close to him as if he was made of glass and it seemed it was Dean’s purpose in life to try and make the admittedly grumpy infant laugh. The look of pure concentration Dean wore when he drew pictures for Sam only went to show how determined he was to give the best to his little brother. No half-hearted blobby drawing would do – Sam needed pretty colors to look at and a detailed explanation of what was on the page when Dean showed him the finished product.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

On the night of 2nd November 1983, Dean was tucked up in bed, as per usual. His daddy had come home just in time to listen to what Dean and Sam had been up to that day and then firmly tell his eldest that it was time to go to sleep, although this was said with a twinkle in his eye. Dean tried to argue but he had been yawning as he did so, and his eyes soon slid shut.

It barely seemed any time at all until Dean was abruptly woken again, but this time his father was nowhere in sight. He couldn’t quite work out what had awoken him, but Dean, being the inquisitive boy that he was, clambered out of his bed and crept towards his bedroom door. He wrinkled his freckled nose at the funny smell that was coming from the landing. Dean thought for a moment that maybe daddy had been trying to make toast again and burnt it. He smiled and opened the door eagerly, thinking he might be able to go find his mommy so that she could tell daddy off for eating so late – as she often did. No sooner had he opened up the door and stepped outside, Dean threw up his hands at the bright light that shone brightly in the darkened hallway.

He squinted and tentatively walked towards it. Dean knew the light was coming from Sammy’s room, but he was confused as to why it was so bright. Sometimes his mommy or daddy went to sit with Sam if he was being restless, but they only ever turned on the lamp by his cot. This light was big and very, very bright and it hurt Dean’s eyes to look at it, just like the loud noise coming from the same direction hurt his ears. When Dean was getting ready to call out for his parents, his daddy emerged from the doorway of Sam’s room. He was holding Sam in a tight bundle of blankets and when he spotted Dean standing on the landing, he rushed to him.

“Daddy!” Dean called out in confusion, trembling in his cotton pyjamas despite the heat coming from the room across from him.

His daddy offered no words of reassurance and instead roughly handed Sam to him. Dean automatically opened his arms to receive him and stared at his father in bewilderment as his dad shouted above the roaring noise.  
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back!”

Dean hesitated for a moment too long and his daddy shouted at him again.

“Now, Dean, go!”

Dean turned on his heel and sped down the hallway, holding Sam as close to his chest as he dared. He stumbled slightly on the stairs whilst he ran down them, but he didn’t stop. Dean raced through the kitchen where he had been sat eating SpaghettiOs mere hours before. Sammy was wailing loudly but Dean didn’t know how to stop him when he felt like crying just as badly. The front door was still locked but Dean had seen his parents open it enough times. His hand shook as he pulled up a chair to stand on, whilst holding Sam in the other, and then hefted himself up to be able to reach the bolts. Even though he knew it was what his daddy wanted him to do, Dean’s heart thudded painfully in his chest at doing something that had always been strictly forbidden: You mustn’t open the door by yourself, Dean, do you understand?

Sammy was a warm parcel in his arms and the weight of him reassured Dean slightly. Looking up at the house, Dean stared in horror at the flickering lights coming from the top window. He still couldn’t quite grasp what was happening, but he knew it was something bad. His daddy had looked very scared and it had frightened Dean, very much so. Dean looked down at his screaming younger brother. Biting his trembling bottom lip, Dean looked back up at the house. He knew he should do something, and he shifted uncertainly from foot to foot as he contemplated what. He could hear a loud siren in the distance and knew that it meant help was coming. Still, for those few moments on the grass outside of his burning home, Dean was alone. Looking down at Sammy for once last time, he clumsily kissed him on the forehead, as he had often seen his mother do.

Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ll go find Mommy and Daddy. They’ll help us.”

Sammy paid no attention to his brother’s words and continued crying, his little face turning bright red from the exertion. Dean gently lowered Sam to the damp grass and folded the blanket over his little hands, in case he got cold. He patted him once and then quickly stood. He began to walk back to the front door, shaking slightly but continuing on. The heat got worse the closer he got, and Dean wrapped his arms around himself in a reassuring hug. The last place he had seen his daddy was upstairs outside Sam’s room, so that was where he headed.

The roaring was louder the higher he climbed and the air was thick and black. Dean began coughing and then found he couldn’t stop. His mommy always rubbed his chest and back when he had a cough, but his mommy wasn’t anywhere to be found and Dean grew frantic when he reached the top of the stairs and found he couldn’t see clearly.

“MOMMY! Mommy, where are you?”

Dean coughed harshly and covered his mouth with his hands. He tripped on something laying on the ground and winced. The only light was the flickering orange glow in Sammy’s room and as it grew higher, Dean leapt away in fear, feeling his way along the wall until he found a gap. He fell back and quickly retreated inside his room. A fit of coughing overtook him again and Dean bent forward with the force. Over the loud rush in his ears, Dean could just make out running footsteps rushing past in the hallway.

“Daddy?” Dean managed to whisper before he inhaled another lungful of smoke. The lights were growing bigger but impossibly Dean’s vision was growing darker and darker. He began to cry, trying desperately to heave air into his gaping mouth, but the more he tried to breathe in, the harder it became. Dean tried to feel in front of him to find the doorway once more, but a deafening crash had him falling back in shock. He fell on his backside and found he couldn’t get back up again. He called out for his parents, even for Sammy, but the thick smoke grew, and Dean found he couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t breathe through the pain in his chest. The orange flames dimmed and Dean fell asleep, exactly as he should, in his room, as if this was any normal night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said previously, this is my first time writing a longer fic so please drop some feedback, be that positive or constructive! I hope you're enjoying it so far :)


	3. Chapter Three.

The house was dark when they returned and Sam breathed out in relief. His brother had been lagging behind most of the route home, despite not being the one injured, but he quickly picked up his pace enough to overtake Sam once he caught sight of their street.  
  
“Remember what I told you, Dean? We’ve got to be quiet in case Dad is asleep.”  
Dean waved his hand dismissively behind him which made Sam roll his eyes. Dean didn’t do well with instructions and would sooner do things his way if he deemed it better. It was one of the many things that made Sam want to scream in frustration, but he never took his anger out on Dean. That was probably why Sam and his father had such a strained relationship; they both had an unspoken rule never to shout at Dean, but that rule didn’t apply to either of them. It seemed that they couldn’t hold a conversation without it turning into a screaming match and it had grown worse the older Sam got.  
  
Dean was already pushing open the door by the time Sam closed the gate and he cursed under his breath when he heard the muffled calls of his brother. If Dad wasn’t already awake, he definitely was now. Hurrying forward, Sam crossed his fingers in hope of his Dad being in a good mood. Too often had he come home to his father nursing a bottle and the tell-tale signs of a man itching for a fight. Dad tended to have early shifts at the garage, so he was often crashed out when Dean and Sam returned from their night escapades, but unfortunately, tonight Sam could distinctly hear Dean jabbering away. There was nothing that Sam could hear in response, which left Sam to the uncertain walk through the house until he reached the living room.  
  
“An’ then Baby Sammy squish!” Dean exclaimed loudly, waving his hands about to convey how upsetting it had been and then clapping them together to show the action.  
  
John looked up when Sam entered the room and raised a single eyebrow. “Yeah, Sammy certainly looks like he got smashed alright.”  
  
Sam flinched slightly at the tone and then hunched his shoulders forward. Dean’s doll was still clutched in his hands and Sam rubbed the material nervously. “I’ve already told Dean that I’d fix Baby Sammy. All he needs is a bit of TLC and he’ll be fine.”  
  
John harrumphed and narrowed his eyes at his youngest. “Is that all it takes, then? Is a turn in the washing machine and some sewing going to sort you out too?”  
  
Sam carefully crossed his arms over his chest defensively and tilted his chin up slightly. “It wasn’t me who started it, okay? A bunch of idiots were giving Dean a hard time and I tried to make them stop. That’s all.” Sam made a move to beckon Dean over. “I’m going to take Dean to bed and then get cleaned up.”  
  
John abruptly stood and took a step towards Sam, stopping him from leaving the room. “This has to stop,” he said, jabbing a rough finger at his son. “You hear me? You can’t go getting into fights all the time because somebody so much as looks at Dean funny. You’re an adult now, Sam. Take some responsibility and grow up.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut again when he caught sight of Dean in the corner of his eye, rocking slowly. Dean never had liked confrontations and on a night such as this, when he was already wound up, there was no telling how he might react if Sam and Dad started arguing.  
  
“I’ll try better, okay?” Sam muttered, his eyes lowered, the very picture of submission. “Can I please take Dean to bed, now?”  
  
John looked as if he wanted to say more, but fortunately he seemed to realise that the boys were both tired and it would be better to leave any further discussions for the morning. He nodded and flicked his wrist away, just as dismissing as his eldest son had been earlier.  
  
Sam quickly went to Dean’s side and put a hand on his lower back, guiding him gently towards the stairs. Dean was still rocking lightly but he allowed his younger brother to lead him away. Baby Sammy was placed on the chest of drawers at the foot of the stairs, with a quick reassurance on Sam’s part that he would be okay there, that he was only sleeping and would be much better in the morning. Dean was used to cuddling up to Baby Sammy at night and Sam knew he would struggle to get to sleep without him. Since Dean had acquired him some years earlier, Baby Sammy had never strayed far from Dean’s side, much in the same way that the real Sam always stayed nearby. Dean cast one last uncertain look at his doll and then helplessly nodded. Sam relaxed his shoulders at the easy acceptance his brother had shown and followed Dean up the stairs, offering gentle encouragements whenever he slowed.  
  
The bedtime routine for Dean was long and tedious but Sam had become an expert after doing it for so many years. He got Dean undressed and into the shower in record time and supervised whilst his brother attempted to wash himself. Dean usually put up a fuss about cleaning his teeth but tonight he was obviously just as tired as Sam was and readily set to the task when prompted by his younger brother. It wasn’t long before he was in his pyjamas and lying in bed, blanket and comforter pulled high under his chin.  
  
“You try and get some sleep, okay Dean?” Sam said gently, running his hand through his brother’s short spiky hair. “You’ve had a long day, but I’m just in my room if you need anything.”  
  
Dean closed his eyes without responding and soon his breathing was slow and heavy. Sam nodded at him, although his brother couldn’t see, and smiled softly.  
“Goodnight, Dean.”  
  
Despite how easily he had fallen asleep, Sam knew it was the fatigue that had overcome Dean and it was likely he’d be up numerous times before the night was done, kicking up a fuss without his doll there. Sam slowly left his brother’s bedside and made his way into the bathroom again. He stripped off and stepped under the shower, violently cringing when the water touched his beaten body. He washed quickly and gingerly, trying his best to avoid the sore parts on his midriff and face. Everything had combined to create one big ache across his whole body and Sam almost bent double in pain when he tried to climb out of the bath. He wrapped a towel around his waist and lent over to the bathroom cupboard to lift down the First Aid kit, mentally listing all of his injuries and deciding upon the best process to go about treating them. He knocked back a few pills dry, shaking his head roughly at the bitter taste they left on his tongue. Most of the troublesome aches were just bruises and Sam was awash with relief when his careful prodding revealed that he didn’t have any broken ribs. His jaw was a more pressing concern; it was swollen with large black bruises covering it and Sam cracked an icepack to apply to the right side of his face. The sudden cold made Sam let out a cracked whimper, but he sternly told himself not to be a baby and pressed the icepack a little harder.  
  
When he was redressed, Sam made his way down the stairs again. He tried his best to be quiet, so that he wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention from his father. Sam grabbed hold of Dean’s doll from the drawers and virtually ran back to the sanctuary of his room. The plan had been to keep Baby Sammy out of sight, out of mind, whilst Sam tried to get Dean to bed, which was why he had left him downstairs. Now that Dean was settled, Sam could get to work repairing the doll. 

First, he got his sewing kit – kept handy in his bedside cabinet for occasions such as this – and set about stitching the various tears and splits in the soft-bodied toy. The thing was filthy, but Sam decided against washing it until he knew it wouldn’t disintegrate. Baby Sammy had footprints all over him, starkly standing out in dark mud, contrasting against the pale pink cloth for skin and the navy-blue romper. Biting his lip to keep his anger in check, Sam tried to stop the shaking of his hands, concentrate on his task and ignore the fury building because of what those damn bullies had done to Dean’s most prized possession. He didn’t care for much, barely even noticed Sam or his father half the time, but Dean loved Baby Sammy with all his heart and to have the doll brutalised broke something in Sam. If there was anything Sam hated more than others treating Dean as if he was stupid, it was people being deliberately cruel for no reason. The boys had known Sam all the way through High School – not well, but just enough to recognise him in the hallways –yet they could quite happily mock his brother, beat Sam to a pulp and then walk away like it was nothing. 

It was only when he felt the sharp prick of the needle that Sam realised he had inadvertently been clenching Baby Sammy within his fist and the poor doll looked even more misshapen than when he had started his impromptu A&E session. Hastily smoothing the doll out, Sam set to finishing up sewing and then went to grab a bowl of warm, soapy water to hand-clean it. Using the washing machine would have been quicker, but Sam still didn’t trust that Baby Sammy wouldn’t shrink or something equally disastrous and he didn’t fancy coming face-to-face with his father again, should he still be downstairs. The clean-up operation was tedious but necessary and Sam ignored the pain gradually returning from being hunched at his desk for so long.  
  
By the time Sam was finished and had placed the doll on the radiator to dry, he could barely keep his eyes open and the early morning light streaming through the windows told him that he had been at it longer than he had orignally thought. Rubbing his neck to relieve some of the tension, he looked over at his bedroom door, half-expecting for Dean to materialise just by Sam thinking about him. It was incredibly unusual to remain undisturbed for a whole night and it was just Sam’s luck that the one time it happened, he was pulling an all-nighter anyway. Before he allowed himself to collapse into bed, Sam decided to go and check on Dean to make sure he was alright. Padding across the landing, he gently pushed open the door and peeked around the corner into Dean’s room. In the dim light, he could just about make out the shape of his older brother on his stomach, legs and arms thrown out like a starfish. Sam smiled at the sight and pulled shut the door again, making sure to leave it open just a crack so that the light of the bathroom could still shine through. Another thing that prevented Dean from sleeping was the dark, but the weak sunlight shining through his open window would help with the issue too, although Dean didn’t seem to be having any trouble at the moment.  
  
Slinking back into his own room, Sam gratefully climbed into bed, still fully clothed but too tired to care. He threw an arm over his face to block out the incoming sunlight and breathed deeply, still trying to ignore his aches and pains. With any luck, he’d be able to grab a few hours sleep before it was time to be up and about, getting Dean ready for the day and then off to start his shift at the café. The idea of standing for hours on end, especially in a place notorious for getting hot and stuffy, didn’t really appeal to Sam, nor did the notion of dealing with irritating customers. Sam let out a huff and scrubbed his eyes roughly, pushing aside all thoughts of his day to come and instead concentrating on falling into a deep sleep.  
  
He should have known that he wouldn’t get his own way because it seemed that the next thing Sam knew, his alarm was beeping unceasingly, and Dean’s shouting was coming through the walls. Sam groaned loudly and rolled over, momentarily forgetting his sore ribs. The blinding pain accompanying the movement had Sam letting out an undignified yelp and he slowly pushed himself up. Dean’s yelling got louder, and Sam knew he was calling for him; Sam wouldn’t get any peace until he answered, so he rejected the notion of going back to bed and forced himself to admit that the day had begun, however unwanted.  
  
“I’m coming, Dean!”


	4. Chapter Four.

Sam really didn’t have time this morning to be cleaning pottery shards off of the kitchen floor, but yet here he was. Turns out Dean hadn’t been in the mood for Lucky Charms after all. Go figure. His older brother had tossed his bowl to the floor in order to fully express his distaste at being served the sugary cereal – despite the fact that he usually gulped it down at an impressive speed. The walls were covered in bits of food and milk had sprayed across seemingly every surface in the room. It was obvious Dean was still feeling fragile after the events of last night and he was expressing it the only way he knew how: taking it out on Sam.  
  
“Go ‘way!” Dean screeched when Sam tried to use a wet cloth to clean the milk splatters from his top. Sam persisted and was rewarded with an elbow to his already tender face. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, mentally counted to ten and then opened them to smile at his older brother.  
  
“Why don’t we just change your t-shirt then, Dean? Would that be better?”  
  
Sam felt bad for taking the easy option, but he really couldn’t deal with any more blows to his face or a screaming Dean on his hands. If he had more time and wasn’t so sleep-deprived, he would have persisted in trying to dab at the mess on Dean’s shirt but needs must. It would be a whole lot quicker to whip another shirt onto Dean and then chuck the dirty one in the washing machine to deal with later. Luckily, Dean seemed appeased by this suggestion and stopped batting at Sam’s hands, which Sam took to mean he agreed. His brother was a man of few words but Sam had grown up understanding each of Dean’s expressions and actions. In times like this, he took what he could get, even if the only answer Sam got was the lack of an argument. Sam was just hoisting Dean out of his chair when in came the only person who could make an already bad morning worse.  
  
“What the Hell is this mess?” John demanded, throwing his hands up in the air. “Can’t you even do something as basic as getting your brother breakfast without it turning into feeding time at the zoo?”  
  
Sam huffed out a breath and tightened his hold on Dean’s forearms. His brother squirmed in protest but thankfully remained silent.  
  
“I’m just going to get him changed now and then I’ll clean up, I promise.” Sam muttered, inching past his father without quite looking at him.  
  
“Change him? For God’s sake, Sam, just use a damp cloth. Dean needs to be at the centre in fifteen minutes!” John said, his voice rising in anger. By the looks of the purple shadows under his eyes, it seemed that Sam hadn’t been the only one to get little sleep last night.  
  
Sam bit back any retort that threatened to run from his mouth and instead dutifully nodded. He reached back over to the sink and once again tried to apply the dishcloth to Dean’s midriff, which as expected, resulted in a screeching armful of big brother.  
  
“Sam! Quit messing about and sort him out. I’ve got a killer headache as it is, without you two adding to it.” John pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, a deep frown drawing his dark eyebrows tight before he glanced up to squint at Sam’s face. “Damn, they really did a number on you, didn’t they?”  
  
Sam subconsciously traced the swelling on his cheek and fought the urge to wince. He had woken up this morning sporting two impressive shiners and a blackened jaw to match, along with various other bruises over his torso and legs. The look probably wouldn’t go down well with his boss at work or any of the customers, but in a house full of three men, there was no makeup to try and cover up the marks.  
  
John studied his youngest son for a few moments and then walked over to the refrigerator and leant in. “I’ve gotta stay late tonight. Make sure you get Dean something to eat before you put him to bed, alright? Get him to wash up before he changes into his PJs too.”  
  
Sam nodded again despite knowing his father couldn’t see it with his head still in the fridge. It wasn’t like his Dad needed a response anyway, when they both knew that Sam had been doing the night routine since he was a kid. Sam still got issued a reminder every time their father worked late; it was like he didn’t trust Sam to remember, even though Sam likely knew the routine better than Dad did. Dean’s wriggling broke the tense silence that followed Sam’s non-verbal answer and it seemed to spur John into action. He shoved his feet into his work boots and grabbed his keys from the counter, throwing a quick goodbye over his shoulder before he was out the door, leaving his two sons standing in silence. Dean moaned and tried to shake himself out of Sam’s grip. Sam held on and continued trying to make his brother look partially presentable, in his stained shirt and with his short hair sticking up all over the place. It didn’t seem to do much and Sam decided it was more worthwhile to get Dean to the centre on time and himself to work, rather than worry too much about Dean’s appearance. After a hasty tidy up of the kitchen, it was time to be on their way.  
  
“Come on, Dee. It’s time to get going.” Sam jollied his brother along and helped him into his coat and shoes. Dean held Baby Sammy in the crook of his right arm – he hadn’t left Dean’s side since Sam had given him back that morning. Sam grabbed his wallet and car keys and shoved both into his back pocket, knowing that he’d need both hands free in order to cohere his older brother into the car. Dean seemed to sense the urgency and for once got out of the house and into the passenger seat of the car in record time; there were occasions that Dean was on Sam’s side. Sam deliberately didn’t check the time as he settled into the driver’s seat. He knew they were already running late and there was no point in getting agitated when it would only serve to worry Dean. After making sure Dean was all strapped in, they set off.  
  
In no time at all, they were pulling up in the car park of Daisy Roots Day Centre, a place Dean had been going to since he left school at eighteen. Sam leant across to undo Dean’s seat belt and then reached into the back to get his rucksack. Dean was already pushing his door open when he straightened up, so Sam hopped out and raced round to the passenger side before Dean got it into his head to run into the road or something equally stupid.  
  
“You ready, Dean?” Sam said before gripping Dean’s shoulder to steer him towards the entrance. Dean had always loved going to the centre and took no persuasion to walk through the glass doors. They could make out the shouts and squeals of the other members of Dean’s group coming from down the hallway and so headed in that direction. Dean brushed Sam’s hand off of him and ran forward, completely ignoring Sam’s calls to slow down. Sam shook his head fondly and followed behind. They reached the Arts&Crafts room and Dean immediately made his way to the finger-painting section, plopping himself down in a bright yellow chair and leaning Baby Sammy against the paint pot before grabbing a sheet of paper. Sandra, one of the key workers, looked up from where she was sat at the table and began to smile at Sam, before taking notice of his face.  
  
“What on earth happened to you, sweetie?” She asked, her voice full of motherly concern.  
  
Sam shrugged and mumbled something about rowdy friends. Sandra pursed her lips and arched one perfect eyebrow but didn’t comment on the poorly told lie. Sam shifted from foot to foot and then apologetically jerked his thumb over his shoulder.  
  
“I’ve got to get to work, is it alright if I head off-“  
  
Sandra smiled again, though more sympathetically this time. “It’s fine, Sam. Looks like Dean’s already settled. Don’t want you to be late to work again.”  
  
Sam nodded and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I was wondering... Is it alright if Dean stays until half-four today? It’s just Mike’s started making me do trash duty at the end of my shift and it’s a bit of a rush getting here for bang on four and-“  
  
Sandra held up her hand to interrupt Sam again. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t leave until five anyway and Dean’s no trouble,” she said, nodding over at the older Winchester brother.  
  
Letting out a relieved whoosh of air, Sam grinned at Sandra. “Thanks, Sandy, I owe you one.”  
  
Sandra flapped her hand about and shook her head. “Stop it! You know I don’t mind. Now get out of here before you miss your shift altogether.”  
  
Sam walked over to plant a kiss on the top of Dean’s fair head, feeling Sandra’s eyes on him the whole time, and then practically sprinted out of the room and through the hallways until he reached the car park. Flinging open the car door, Sam jumped in and sent up a silent prayer that his boss was in a forgiving mood today. He threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the centre and onto the main road, turning up the radio loud to try and wake him up more. It did little to help and when Sam walked through the doors of Betty’s Diner not twenty minutes later, he couldn’t help a massive yawn breaking free.  
  
“You’re late, Winchester!”  
  
The booming voice of Michael Burke broke through the otherwise muted diner. Sam cringed and then turned to face his boss. “I know and I’m really sorry, Mike, but you know I have to drop Dean off first and he was in a bad mood this morning and…” Sam trailed off when he realised his audience was uncaring. Mike chucked a bunched up apron at Sam’s face and pointed to the counter to the left of the entrance.  
  
“I don’t pay you for excuses, kid, I pay you to work. And as you’re fifteen minutes late, I’m deducting an hour’s pay from today’s shift.” Mike said and before he turned and stalked off without giving Sam a chance to defend himself or argue against his decision.  
  
Reluctantly pulling on the apron, Sam tied it in a loose bow behind his back and headed behind the red counter. Jemma was already at the tills, serving a customer, but she nodded in greeting and mouthed hello. From her narrowed gaze at the sight of his battered face, Sam could tell that there would be an inquisition when she was free and he tensed at the disapproving lecture he would receive over his actions last night. It was bad enough having his father give him a beat down, let alone from his overprotective colleague too. Jemma knew of his tendencies to jump into bad situations to protect his brother and although it was clear she admired his courage and protective streak, it didn’t stop her from lecturing him like a five year old whenever he came off worse for wear.  
  
As it turned out, neither Jemma nor Sam got a chance to talk for the next couple of hours. Betty’s Diner had a steady stream of customers coming through the doors and Sam was rushed off his feet dashing between the tables, taking orders and delivering food. He could feel Mike’s heavy gaze on his back and Sam tried his best not to give him any opportunity to find fault with the way he was working. It would be too easy to lose the entire day’s pay if Mike caught him slacking or giving cause for a customer to complain. Sam received a few comments about his appearance, both concerned and mocking, but he brushed them all off. Luckily his eyes hadn’t swollen shut completely, although the way they were aching was enough to leave Sam with a pounding headache.  
  
The hours flew by and it wasn’t long before the rush died down. Mike had disappeared into the back office some time ago so Sam made his way over to the counter to ask Jemma if she was okay with him taking his break – the appeal of taking painkillers being the driving force behind the request. Thankfully Jemma seemed to sense that Sam desperately needed a rest and agreed to take her break after his, rather than the other way round as they usually did. Wrenching off his apron, Sam sweet-talked Davy in the kitchen into letting him have a sandwich and then made his way over to one of the booths in the back corner. From this position, Sam could watch the television fixed onto the wall and he absently listened in whilst picking at his lunch. The channel had been turned to a local news station and the bouncy blonde presenter was practically salivating at the mouth as she eagerly told the audience about the latest crime to hit the local area. Sam pricked his ears up when he heard the presenter begin to tell of the strange murders that had been occurring in the surrounding towns.  
  
“- and it looks like there must be something in the water, Bill. That’s three different cases in close proximity all having occurred within weeks of each other. First we have Mrs Mary Banks, a suburban mom who turned on her husband of fourteen years. Shot him in the head with his own gun. Next there is a Mr Luke Sullivan, caught red-handed having beaten his sister to death with a baseball bat.” The blonde reporter’s eyes were widening comically as she listed off each crime, clearly trying to make the most of her airtime.  
  
“The latest murder occurred just yesterday night; a yet to be named man reportedly having suffocated his mother in her own home. Police have been cagey with their statements but it has certainly got people talking: why are these family members turning on their beloved?” The woman shook her head gravelly and passed back over to the anchor in the studio. It didn’t take long for the next story to start up and Sam quickly lost interest. He was just turning his attention back to his sandwich when the old man on the table next to his shook his head and huffed in disgust.  
  
“It just about breaks your heart, don’t it? I heard the Banks couple were weeks away from renewing their wedding vows. What could have happened that all those people turned on their own flesh and blood? It don’t make no sense. Family’s supposed to have your back.”  
  
Sam shook his head wordlessly but the man had already turned away and gone back to devouring his burger. The man’s words buried their way into Sam’s head and it kept him thinking about the news story long after his break ended and he got back to work. The incidents had all happened in towns scattered nearby to the one they were in and the story as a whole left a nasty taste in Sam’s mouth. Family was all that he had and he couldn’t grasp how anybody would want to hurt their own. He was so caught up in his own head that Sam made numerous stupid mistakes with orders over the remaining hours of his shift, so much so that Mike stuck him in the back to help Davy clean up the kitchen. The work was tedious but Sam was grateful of the distraction that Davy’s mindless prattle brought and he allowed himself to forget about the news story. He was so caught up with what he was doing that he almost missed Jemma calling his name from the kitchen doorway.  
  
“Sam! I said there’s someone on the phone for you. Says it’s urgent.” Jemma held the phone out to him and shook her hand until he took it. Holding the receiver up to his mouth, he spoke into it.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Sam. I’m sorry to bother you at work but you need to come in. It’s about Dean. There’s been an incident.”  
  
Sam felt an icy cold shiver sweep down his body. “Sandra? What’s going on? Is he okay? What happened?”  
  
Sandra let out a sigh that distorted the connection for a moment.  
  
“I’ll explain everything when you get here. Just please… hurry. We really need you here.”  
  
The click told Sam that she had hung up and he pressed a button to end the call. Jemma was watching from the side, her fingers absently twisting her dark hair. “Is everything okay?”  
  
Sam shook his head, his face drawing up in a confused frown. “No, I don’t think so. It’s Dean, something’s wrong. I need to go to the centre. Are you okay to tell Mike…” He trailed off but Jemma was already nodding her head.  
  
“Absolutely, I’ll tell him you had a family emergency. I really hope Dean’s okay. Ring me when you get home.”  
  
Sam nodded and peeled off his apron to replace it with his jacket. He grabbed his keys out of his pocket and smiled gratefully at Jemma before running out of the diner. Having finished earlier than he normally would, there was barely any traffic on the road and in no time at all he was pulling in to the centre’s car park and stopping the car directly in front of the entrance. He’d barely put the car into park when he flung the door open and pounded up the stairs to the entrance. There was a commotion going on down the hallway and Sam’s heart began to race because he knew whatever had happened, he really did not want to find out.


	5. Chapter Five.

Sometimes Sam didn’t want to get up in the morning. Sometimes he wanted to ignore his alarm clock and the sound of Dean calling for him and just go back to sleep. Sleep had always been welcome but often eluded him. It wasn’t uncommon for Sam to be awake until the early hours of the morning, sorting through washing or tidying up the kitchen, not bothering to go back to bed because Sam knew full well he’d just be staring up at the ceiling until it was time to get up. Sam was able to get many chores done when every normal person would be in bed. When he did get a good night’s sleep, it was so rare and precious that Sam felt revitalized for the rest of the week.  
  
Of course, it wasn’t just Sam’s insomnia that kept him up. Dean had been prone to night terrors since he was young and had taken to crawling into Sam’s bed as soon as his younger brother was out of a cot. It wasn’t comfort that Dean wanted from Sam; he remained stiff and unresponsive whenever Sam tried to hug him. Sam suspected that it was just company Dean craved and if he were to admit it aloud, Sam looked forward to his nightly visitor. He would often tell Dean his plans for the following day or if he was in a good mood he might tell Dean made-up stories about brave knights and terrifying dragons. Sam wasn’t the most imaginative with the stories but Dean never complained. Truth be told, Sam wasn’t sure if his brother was even listening but it filled the empty silence and made the night go that bit faster. John had tried to stop Dean from sharing Sam’s bed when he first found out, saying Dean was too old to sleep next to his little brother, but Dean had persisted and John had quickly given up. Dean may not say much, but his stubbornness spoke volumes.  
  
Those nights were the only times that Sam somewhat believed that Dean liked him. It was the only time that Dean went to Sam of his own free-will, without the promise of food or treats to sway him. Sam had been at Dean’s side almost constantly growing up and even now Sam spent the most time with him out of anyone. It was Sam that made Dean his meals, Sam who took Dean to the day centre and all his various appointments. Sam took Dean shopping and to the cinema. Yet despite all of the attention Sam gave Dean, he always felt second best. Dean always went to their father if he was hurt. Dean always went to their father when he wanted to show off something he’d found or wanted reassurance. Dean gave their dad the biggest smiles and the tightest hugs. Sam got the leftovers. He got the mood swings and the tantrums and the angry slaps. Sam was the one who had food thrown at him and drinks tossed at his feet. Dean rarely smiled at him, especially not the great beaming grins that their father received. Sam tried not to take it too personally or look too much into it, but it did make his stomach twist whenever he witnessed the tender moments between his brother and father.  
  
Their father took all of the affection Dean gave and it was left Sam to keep life ticking on. Since he was in Junior High Sam had been tasked with taking Dean to and from school every day, even though it meant he was often late to his own classes.

When his brother had started at Daisy Roots, Sam had been put down as Dean’s emergency contact. The staff had come to know Sam well over the years and he considered them friends, yet when Sam came to meet Sandra in the reception of the centre after receiving the phone call at work that day, she seemed distant.  
  
“Sandra! What’s happened? Where’s Dean? Is he okay?” Sam rushed over to her, heart beating wildly in his chest. Sandra attempted a smile but it drooped at the edges.  
  
“He’s just through there, in the office.” Sandra grabbed hold of Sam’s arm when he started past her. “Sam, we need to talk.”  
  
Sam turned his head to look down at her and frowned. “Can’t it wait? If something’s happened to Dean, I need to see him. If he’s hurt, he’d rather be with his brother than carers.” Sam hoped Sandra wouldn’t be able to pick up on the tell-tale signs that he was lying. Dean didn’t care who comforted or patched him up unless a choice was their father  
  
“No, Sam. It would be best if we discuss things now. If you’d like to follow me,” Sandra turned on her heel and strode away. Sam longingly gazed at the door of the office and then reluctantly followed. Sandra had the door held open to him when he reached her and he slowly walked in. The room was one he had been in before when dropping Dean off but in the state it was currently in was virtually unrecognisable. Paper was strewn across the floor and chairs had been knocked over at each table. Posters on the walls were torn and hung haggard from the last remaining pins at the corners.  
  
“What happened in here?” Sam asked, shock bleeding into his voice. Sandra pursed her lips and let out a deep sigh through her nose.  
  
“Dean happened, Sam. This whole mess,” Sandra swept her hand around the room, “was created by your brother.”  
  
Sam stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious? Dean would never do something like this. You’ve seriously got your wires crossed.”  
  
Sandra remained quiet and walked over to a group of tables pushed together in the centre of the room. She perched down on the edge and beckoned Sam over.  
  
“I was here when it happened. I know you don’t like to think of your brother acting this way but it's true.” She paused and waited for Sam to take a seat next to her before beginning.  
  
“Our session this afternoon involved a number of games. The residents were split into groups to participate. Whilst the games were going on, the staff members were trying their best to keep an eye on things as well as supervise the games.” Sandra paused for breath and rubbed her forehead. “Nobody quite saw how it happened but during one of the games, a fight broke out between Dean and another resident. We tried to intervene but Dean became very violent. He attacked two members of staff and then proceeded to take his anger out on his surroundings.” 

Sam huffed and let out a pathetic laugh. “Dean? You’re telling me Dean was violent? Sure he’s got a temper but he’d never act like this. It must have been one of the other guys and Dean got caught up in it all, he must have-”  
  
Sandra abruptly stood up. “Sam, I watched Dean bite a colleague on the arm with my own eyes. I know this is hard for you to hear but we’ve got a serious problem here. Dean acted out in an extremely aggressive manner and from what we could tell, it was unprovoked. The resident he was fighting with seemed only to be trying to protect himself and Dean was relentless with his attack.”  
  
Sam tried shaking his head in denial and Sandra’s face grew sympathetic. “Honey, I know you’re trying to get your head round this but I’ve got several witnesses and a roomful of traumatised residents to testify to the altercation. The steps we have to take are going to be a whole lot simpler if we have your cooperation.”  
  
Sam felt sick to his stomach but he listened and nodded when Sandra began to tell him of his brother’s suspension and the meeting the board would hold in order to discuss Dean’s future at Daisy Roots. At this, Sam looked up and widened his eyes.  
  
“What do you mean his ‘future at Daisy Roots’? It’s not something that can’t be fixed, right?”  
  
Sandra peered down at Sam with a grim smile.  
  
“We’re lucky that the staff members affected don’t wish to press charges. As for the poor boy Dean attacked, well, that will be up to his family.”  
  
Sam shot up off of his chair and stepped towards Sandra.  
  
“They can’t ‘press charges’ against him! It’s not Dean’s fault how he acts. He isn’t… Dean isn’t the same as other people. He doesn’t understand things the way you or I do.”  
  
Sandra shook her head sadly. “If you are referring to Dean’s mental illness then I can understand your concern. However, at Daisy Roots we have a clear clause in the contracts signed by the families of our residents that states we will not accept aggressive clients.”  
  
“That’s bullshit!” Sam exploded, jabbing his finger in Sandra’s direction. “What kind of care organisation are you if you can’t handle the behaviour of the mentally ill? Dean isn’t well and you’re supposed to be the ones to help him.”  
  
Sandra narrowed her eyes at Sam’s hand and looked up at him. “I will kindly ask you not to raise your voice at me. We are not responsible for how the residents act – that is on the families. We are simply here to supply relief to the families so that they can have some respite in the care of their loved ones. We are paid to provide activities and guidance for them, not to put up with any form of abuse.”  
  
Sam threw his hands up in disgust. “All this over one incident? Dean’s never acted like this before, why are you throwing such a hissy fit over it?”  
  
Sandra’s posture stiffened and she turned her face away for a moment before returning to look up at Sam. “This isn’t the first incident, Sam. Dean’s behaviour has been becoming more abnormal over the past few weeks. I didn’t raise any concerns with you because I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment.” Sam opened his mouth to reply but Sandra held her hand up. “If you had asked me if I had noticed a change in Dean then I would have told you, but you didn’t. I had hoped it was just a phase and that it would pass. It seems after today’s incident that those hopes were flawed.”  
  
Sam roughly ran a hand through his long hair and let his shoulders slump. Sandra’s words were cutting into him and there was nothing he could do to stop the tirade.  
  
“Hon, I wish there was something that I could say to make this better but I can’t. I’m afraid I must ask you to take Dean from here and not return until further notice.”  
  
Sam felt his eyes begin to burn and he gripped his head between both hands. “Until further notice? How long’s that going to be? I have nowhere else to take Dean, this is all there is. I can’t look after him during the week, I have work. Please, Sandra. Please reconsider, I promise this won’t happen again. I’ll talk to Dean, make sure he understands, I swear if you give us another chance you won’t regret it.” Sam was aware he was rambling, begging Sandra in a voice that shook and cracked but he couldn’t stop. The world felt like it was tilting and he couldn’t find his balance. The pitying smile Sandra sent him clearly told him her answer before she even spoke.  
  
“I’ll try my best to speak on Dean’s behalf but I won’t lie. I need to tell the board the truth – it’s in Dean’s best interest just as much as the centre’s.”  
  
Sam cupped the back of his neck and bit his lip. “How is it gonna help Dean by banning him from the centre?”  
  
Sandra‘s eyes softened at Sam’s stance but she didn’t relent. “The way Dean is at the moment, Sam, I’m not sure that the centre is the best place for him. He’s been acting out and today just proved how violent he can really get. I don’t want to bear witness if it gets any worse. I think… I think it may be best if you sought out a more viable option.”  
  
Sam didn’t ask for her to verify what she meant because he already knew. He’d heard the whispers often enough and his own father had even started saying it recently. Sam shook his head and twisted away to walk out of the room. Before he left, he gripped hold of the door-frame and half looked over his shoulder.  
  
“I will never let Dean be put in a psychiatric hospital, you hear me? Never.”

Sam strode through the hallways until he reached the door he knew his brother was behind. He took a moment to compose himself before he opened it and braced himself for what he would find inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly longer wait this time! I'v been busy writing essays for uni so I've tried to fit this in-between. Hope you enjoyed and please leave feedback!


	6. Chapter Six.

Pushing open the office door, Sam peered inside. The blinds were drawn but he could just about make out a lump huddled on the couch at the far end of the room.  
  
“Dean?” Sam whispered, edging his way inside and closing the door behind him. “Buddy, are you okay?”  
  
The lump shifted slightly and Sam took it as invitation to step closer until he was beside the couch. The spiky tufts of Dean’s head were barely visible from the tight ball he had pulled himself into and Sam gently reached out to cup the back of his head.  
  
“You sure know how to make a scene, huh? Guess you and me aren’t so different after all.” Sam lowered himself to a crouch in front of the couch and started to stroke Dean’s hair. “You want to sit up a bit, Dee?”  
  
Dean was trembling beneath his touch and Sam thought for a moment that he would push him off, yet slowly Dean began to unfurl from his position. Sam smiled at him and tried to meet his eyes despite the firm stare Dean had on the floor. Baby Sammy was nestled in Dean’s arms and was being slowly rocked from side to side, its floppy head bobbing with the movement. Dean had a pink flush to his cheeks and his eyes were red-rimmed. It was clear that Dean had been crying and Sam wanted nothing more to sweep his brother into a hug, which he would have done had it not been for the women who entered the office at that moment.  
  
“Mr Winchester? I’ve come to ask you to fill out some forms before you take your brother.” The woman spoke in a clipped voice and held none of the sympathy that Sandra’s had. Sam had never laid eyes on her before but from her crisp suit it was clear that she was a member of admin rather than a nurse. Sam held his hand out for the clipboard and pen and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Dean’s head.  
  
“Your father has been informed of the situation and as Dean’s guardian is required to come into the centre in the near future so that Dean’s case can properly be discussed. As you are listed as an emergency contact for Dean, however, you are permitted to sign these on his behalf today.” The woman stared down through her glasses at Sam and sniffed in distaste. “We will phone you when we have more information on the situation.”  
  
Sam nodded his thanks and handed the paperwork back to the woman. She whipped it out of his hand and then swept her hand out to the side. “Thank you, Mr Winchester, I will see you out.”  
  
Sam snorted at the abrupt dismissal and stood. He reached down to grasp Dean’s hand and pulled him to stand beside him, being careful not to haul him up too roughly. Dean was pliant as putty and it didn’t take much to guide him out of the room. The halls were empty, but the faint sound of crying could be heard coming from a closed door down the hall. Sam stopped and cocked his head to listen, frowning in bemusement. The woman turned at Sam’s sudden stop and rolled her outlined eyes.  
  
“That’s the mess your brother left his group in. It’s taken the staff near half an hour to calm them down. He terrified them.”  
  
Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded wordlessly. He tugged on Dean’s hand and led him out of the door. He could feel the woman’s eyes burning holes in to his back and so refused to look over his shoulder. The car was parked terribly, more out of the space than in it and Sam winced at the prospect of receiving a parking ticket on top of everything else. Luckily his windscreen was ticket-free when he stepped closer to inspect it and he felt his shoulders slump in relief.  
  
“Come on, get in, Dean.” Sam murmured softly, opening the passenger door for Dean to climb inside. Dean hunched into himself the moment he sat down. Sam gently closed the door and then rubbed the back of his neck, his white teeth worrying his bottom lip. The once welcoming atmosphere of Daisy Roots had gone, and Sam felt the urge to drive away as quickly as possible. He made his way round to the other side of the car and sat down beside Dean. He looked over at his brother, but Dean had shut himself off, eyes completely blank. Sam sighed and started the engine.  
  
  
They were little over halfway home when they reached a police line. Sam slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a stop. He spared a quick glance at Dean to check he was okay before refocusing on the scene in front of him. Men in uniform were milling about and curious passers had stopped to look. Sam was just about to put the car into reverse to try a different route when he caught sight of someone he thought he recognised. The lady was wearing a large beige overcoat and had her arms wrapped around her middle. She was sobbing openly and the comforting from the man beside her seemed to do little. Sam wracked his brains to try and remember where he knew her from when it hit him. The woman was the mother of an old school friend of Sam’s. Mrs Derry had always been a cheerful presence and often tried to coach Sam into accepting the cookies she frequently baked. It was hard to connect the distraught woman on the road with the pleasant one he remembered from visits to hang out with her son, Luke. Sam gripped the steering wheel in two hands and squeezed tightly, trying to think what to do. Eventually he released his hold and went to unclip his seatbelt.  
  
“Dean, I’m just going to see what’s happening. You stay here, okay? I won’t be gone long and you’ll be able to see me the whole time.”  
  
Dean didn’t respond, his head remained bent forward and his hands clutching his doll to his chest. Sam hesitated for a moment but quickly decided Dean would be okay. God knows Dean was loud enough when he shouted so if he wanted Sam back, then Sam would hear.  
  
The babble of the crowd hit Sam as soon as he left the confines of the crowd and he walked over to the thickest part, outside of the grocery store – where Mrs Derry stood. A police officer was speaking to her in a low voice but he was pulled away by a colleague just before Sam reached them. Sam’s fingers were tangled together and he couldn’t help turning back to look at the car before he reached her. Dean was staring out of the window, seemingly oblivious that Sam had even left. The lack of reaction gave Sam no reason to return so he continued on his way. When he reached Mrs Derry, he gently touched her shoulder. The man to her left glared at him but Mrs Derry merely raised her eyes to see who it was. Sam tried for a smile but he feared it looked more like a grimace and he hastily relaxed his face.  
  
“Ma’am? Are you okay? What’s happened?” Sam spoke gently and was mindful to duck his head so that he didn’t loom over her petite frame. Mrs Derry rubbed her eyes under her glasses and bit back a sob.  
  
“Oh, Sam! You knew him well, didn’t you? You can tell them that he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He loved her, didn’t he? You can tell them.” The woman’s face crumpled and she began crying once more. Sam stared at her in bewilderment and then looked over at the man to her side, to see if he could explain more without the tears. The man’s face was stern but his eyes grew soft at the woman’s words.  
  
“You’re friends with Luke?” The man asked, patting Mrs Derry on the shoulder comfortingly. Sam nodded and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
“We were pretty close, haven’t seen him in a while though." Sam said regretfully. "Not since we left school anyway. Why? Has something happened to him?”  
  
Mrs Derry’s hand flew to her mouth and she let out a sob. The man squeezed her shoulder and then nodded gravely at Sam.  
  
“The police were called to the shop about an hour ago. Apparently witnesses saw a young man strangling a girl. She’s been taken to hospital, but from what we’ve heard, it isn’t good.”  
  
Sam’s stomach dropped and he turned to stare at the cordoned off section of the street.  
  
“This guy, it wasn’t…?”  
  
Mrs Derry’s loud wail was answer enough and Sam shook his head in disbelief.  
  
“Luke would never do something like that. He’d never hurt anybody.” He said earnestly, “This girl, who was she?”  
  
The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “His girlfriend, Ruby. We’ve been told it looked like they were arguing and then Luke just turned on her. They said he tried to get away through the back entrance but for whatever reason returned not long after.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to ask more, but was interrupted from a cry coming from behind him. Twisting round to see, Sam caught sight of Dean hanging out of the passenger window and slapping the side of the car. His patience had clearly expired and Sam would have been relieved that it had gotten Dean out of his funk, if it weren’t for the situation at hand. As it was, Sam was torn over what to do. He wanted to stay and talk more to Mrs Derry, but he knew it was unfair to leave Dean on his own, especially after the day he had had. The man, whom Sam had come to recognise as the Derry’s neighbour, seemed to realise the situation and nodded in the direction of the car.  
  
“Go. There’s nothing you can do to help here. I’m going to take Penny down to the station in a little while anyway, to go and see Luke.”  
  
Sam bit his lip and nodded. “Please keep me updated. Luke was good friend to me and I’d like to help if I can.”  
  
Mrs Derry lifted her hand to touch the side of Sam’s bruised face and smiled weakly. “You always were a good boy, Sam. I’m sure Luke will appreciate it to know he has your support.”  
  
Sam nodded once more and then waved his hand in farewell. He hastened to avoid stumbling into the growing gaggle of journalists that had gathered and jogged back to the car. Dean was still dangling from the window and Sam grabbed his arms to guide him back in.  
  
“Come on, Dean, we can go now.” Sam said once inside the car and tugged his older brother to sit upright. Dean squirmed slightly but still didn’t say a word. Sam restarted the engine and spun the steering wheel round to drive back the way they had just come. The second route was slightly longer but Sam was glad for the distraction that driving gave him. What with everything that had happened that day, his head was beginning to ache and his eyes blur.  
  
The buzzing of his phone on the dash drew his attention and he reached over to look at it briefly. The screen was lit up with numerous boxes stating all of the missed calls and texts he had received and Sam let out a loud groan. Their father was bound to be worried. He knew that his eldest had been kicked out of the day centre and neither of his sons had returned home yet. Sam contemplated pulling over to answer the call and then decided it would be better to just step on the gas and answer to his father’s face – a prospect he most definitely was not looking forward to. Dean hummed in time to the buzzing of the phone and twisted his hands together on his lap, a sure sign that he was growing anxious. Sam patted him on the arm and spoke softly.  
  
“Nearly home, Dee. Time to face the music, hey?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait again! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave comments if you enjoyed (or even if you didn't!)


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